Two Pieces of a Whole
by FlyingHampsterOfDoom
Summary: A series of oneshots, mostly featuring Luna, Blaise is in there too sometimes. Sum. so far: 1.Pretending is hard. 2.How Ginny and Luna met.3. Not Crazy.
1. Not How It's Supposed To Be

It was unexpected, for sure. That's all that was really remembered. Like grasping at straws, trying to drag up anything at all that could claim to be…_sane._

It was like unfiltered light that had fallen, crashing down upon broken knees; to stare longingly at the world around; to pick up a loose piece of parchment.

The light, for that's all that he could really remember it being, had looked up at him then, and all he saw was sky, and a glittering – apologetic- smile. "I'm collecting them today," and then it was gone. Scampering off somewhere, to collect more bits of written-upon parchment and startle other, faceless, students.

The dark corners had been calling to him, bathing in their spindly intrigue and eluding him with their searing flesh promises. The deception had him bubbling with anticipation, the promise of _power, _of _fulfillment_, of finally, _finally_, being able to just _believe_ in something.

He had been taken upon by bouts of sleeplessness, tucked away within his bitter room, moth-eaten hangings draped around too-comfortable-for-his-type bed. And in the forever-moonless room, he could almost forget that they were the acidic color of scales and green. And he could almost forget that he shouldn't be comfortable in his bed, because that wasn't what Slytherins did.

He would stare at his abnormality, the dark stain upon his forearm that he fought too hard for, clawed his way to the top of the list for, _the first of his friends to receive._ He would think of the massive expanse of sky he had seen, and try to forget about how cold he was, and how the bubbles were slowly dying. He would try not to remember how many pieces of parchment he had dropped that day, and just savor his piece of victory.

Because that's what Slytherins did.

The distant flutter of pages had been her destiny, to become one with them, to live by them, to die by them. Their ideas, their ideals, it was what she strived for. What her type needed.

Two weeks ago she had begun collecting parchment, and it was fascinating, for a time. To look at what people felt unworthy enough to keep, to catch a glimpse into other's lives.

A week ago it had been her mission in life to ascertain the date that every painting in Hogwarts had been made.

Hum a tune, spin off to your left, skip classes on Thursday. It was so dull, lackluster, unintelligent, devoid of life. Say, that makes a good tune.

_Loony_, and her eyes snapped open. Shame, that, she was having a rather pleasant time, out here, in the cold, _alone. _Still, it was best to speak when spoken to, so she rolled her eyes in the direction of the voice.

She vaguely felt affronted, not so much that someone had thrown a snowball at her, but that she was used to it by now. A monotone day, with the same color as the week before.

The soft rustle of robes, a steady drip of cold, melted heart and liquid eyes, she was alone, save for the people surrounding her, playing a game of 'guess which of us has your wand?' And later, when she'd safely retrieved her possession, and classes were over, she'd calmly trudge out into the falling snow, and allow her tears to make up the mass of snow that steadily covered the field.

This week, she couldn't bring herself to do anything.


	2. I Defend Myself

"That's not very nice, you know," a smooth, bored voice interrupted the jeers of several upper-classmen. One of which rolled her eyes and turned to the new intruder.

"Yeah? And what difference does it make to you, runt?" a made-up face and coiled-tight blonde hair asked. A fake human with a fake cause.

"Well really, it's not me you have to worry about," she could see the confusion that was setting in, and the biting comment on the tip of her tongue. "It's everyone else. What will they think of someone too weak to pick on someone that can't put up a fight? Do you really need back up to hit others, or are they just there to make yourself feel better, not so week? People that feel ill of themselves often inspire others to think the same of them. You're only causing everyone around you to realize how week you are, to see the power-hungry brute that dwells within. It's funny, isn't it, that the very reason you beat others down is actually biting you in the ass."

Chocolate eyes met sky blue, and in that moment it didn't matter that they had never formally met, or that they were from separate Houses, they were just two stricken people, tired of the torment in their lives.

"Pfft, I told you she was loony, didn't I? Come on, I don't want to even bother with telling her how many ways she was wrong." And with that, the group left, and the two were alone in a quiet hallway.

"You know, you should stick up for yourself more."

"Yeah? And what would you know? You let them walk all over you, calling you things like _Loony_." Cinnamon freckles and chocolate eyes, licorice hair and cream skin. Sweetness in human form, but not for long.

"I stick up for myself, you just don't see it," and as Ginny looked at Luna, she had the vague feeling that she should just somehow understand.

"Come on then, let's get down to the Great Hall, I want to see who the Hogwarts Champion is," Luna looked puzzled as she helped Ginny up. "Oh, come now, don't tell me you don't _know!_ The Goblet of Fire, the Triwizard Tournament, you know, only what the school's been talking about for the last month?"

"Oh, I see," and somehow, Ginny didn't think she really did. "I bet Harry wins."

"He can't, he didn't even enter his name." Luna looked up from underneath her overly-long bands, and whispered an 'oh.'

"Well, that just changes everything then, doesn't it?" And once again Ginny felt like she should understand what was being said.

**Well, there you have it. Another one-shot, which is what I will be doing in this little nook that I've created. You can read into this story whatever you want, but I firmly stand by the fact that I'm writing them as just friends. Also, disclaimer: I don't own really much of anything, except a bunch of scrapbooking supplies, but that still doesn't make up Harry Potter, so really, no point in suing, is there? I'll be adding COMPLETED ONE-SHOTS to this periodically, so just keep an eye out if you so desire. Most will probably be Luna/Blaise, because that's what I currently like, but as my tastes change, so, too, will the stories. Enjoy, and drop a review or two, yeah?**


	3. Sometimes

Sometimes, late at night, I'll lie in my bed and listen to the quiet. And I'll wonder about chaos, God, and my schedule for tomorrow. I'll glance over at my clock, knowing that I should be asleep because I have to be up by five thirty. But I don't go to sleep, and at those times I never have.

It is at these quite times when I am free to reflect upon memories I usually pretend to forget. About how sometimes I catch a glimpse of a life I've never led, memories that are not my own. About make-believe things I've thought before, and about the bogie monsters we all carry.

There used to be a secret door on my wall. I would lie on my side in bed, and stare at the doorknob, watching for signs that something was trying to get though. Nothing ever did though, and after a time I decided that I would try to go though it. I tried again, and again for several days after, until I couldn't stand looking at the door that wouldn't open. So I've had it covered for years, trying to pretend that it doesn't exist, that there was never a door in the world that I couldn't open. Time passed, and with it humiliation, a new understanding. After all, isn't that how all secret doors are?

But I am not crazy. I know the words you whisper to each other, I understand what you're really saying when you tell me that I'd make a good writer. "You're crazy if you really believe the things you think." I'm sorry, I can't help that I think the way I do.

I don't really believe in make-believe doors, or monsters under my bed. I don't actually believe that the mirrors will swallow me whole in the middle of the night, or that dreams are actually made when sprites whisper stories into your ear.

So of course, it would only make sense if I didn't believe that there are multiple universes, or that I'm not run by money. I'd simply have to be put into a straightjacket if I really, truly questioned churches of God- because as we all know, if you question the church and their teachings, you question God and will therefore be condemned to eternal damnation.

It would be so much easier if I could just sleep.

None of that matters as I lie in bed, my eyes somewhere between wide-awake and drooping, my mind running too fast for such unsafe hours of the night. And as I close my eyes, trying to block out one more thought, I pretend that the world outside my dorm room doesn't exist; that if I were to open the door tomorrow, all I would see is an endless chasm of darkness, and the soft decent of the dazzling snow.

But I am not crazy.

_I'm sure we all know that I wrote this short story about Luna. Next up, I'm hoping to have one of the Marauders. If you see anything that doesn't flow right or make sense, please tell me so I can edit it. Thank you! Usual disclaimer applies._


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